Time Hurts more than Heals
by its4kad
Summary: She didn't know how or why she was sent back in time, and for the first time in her life she had no idea how to fix it. But she knew two things: First, that it was his fault. Second, she was going to kill him for it. TomxHermione.
1. The End

**A/N: ****Hey**_** people, **_

_**Firstly, I want to welcome you to my new story and it is the first story I have ever posted on here so I'm very worried. I have written stories before, but I want everyone to like this one. **_

_**My goal is to make it believable, entertaining, and I want it to be dark. You can't have a story with Voldemort/Tom Riddle and not expect it to be dark. **_

_**I don't know how well I'm going to reach these goals but if everyone could comment how they liked it and polite criticism is very much appreciated. If I have too much detail or too little or if its confusing let me know.**_

_**Secondly, I plan to update this! I have wanted to write this story forever and I just now felt some inspiration, but I have an incredibly busy life so don't always expect something every month**_

_**Lastly, I'm an American trying to write a story that was originally written by a British author so there's bound to be many differences in language and diction, but ill try my best to not screw it up.  
**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my original plot and characters, everything else belongs to the great J.K. Rowling. **_

_**Thank you for listening to my rambling!**_

* * *

_** "A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light."  
— Leonardo da Vinci**_

* * *

The pain was unbearable.

She just wanted...

For it to stop.

For it all to be over.

For an end.

"CRUCIO!"

The shattering noise inside her skull rattled violently around her head, and she felt as though her brain was being pounded and pinched into a tiny ball. Her dry throat was scratchy as she screamed, powerless to stop, without lack of trying. Unfortunately, when being Crucio'd to a certain degree there's no control over your screams.

They just happen.

Her limbs twitched uncontrollably, she felt nerves sizzle and pop, bones bend, joints twist in ways they shouldn't, invisible irons singed skin, and something chewed unnaturally at her muscles.

"How did you get into my vault?" A callous voice screeched into her ear.

Her insides felt like they were being twisted, swished around throughout her body, and beaten repeatedly. There was a lack of oxygen in her lungs and she gasped, desperate to quench the burning need festering there for air.

"How did you know it was in there? Answer me!" Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, scratchy and unrelenting.

Her spine and neck felt like they were being continually distorted, snapped, and crushed under the pressure that seemed to come from all directions. Her body unconsciously withered and arched, searching for a position that might alleviate the pain in any way possible.

"What else did you take? What else! ANSWER ME!" The voice threatened through the drumming in her ears.

There was an itchy, clawing, that stabbed all over her body and she scratched and rubbed fiercely, trying to alleviate the invisible knives from her body, as she shook and convulsed on the floor.

"How did you get in there?"

And she screamed.

Oh, how she screamed.

The Trio had been doing fairly well with their hunt for Horcruxes, and they even ushered the information they wanted out of Luna Lovegood's father about the Deathly Hallows. They knew what Voldemort was after, now, giving them a one-up.

But then the snatchers had caught them when Harry had let slip on the Tabooed word. When one of the snatchers had seen the defining mark on Harry's forehead, they were transported to the Malfoy's residence. Then Bellatrix had seen the sword of Gryffindor, which one of the snatchers had found in their tent, she had become irate, and left wanting an explanation. Bellatrix had chosen, purely based on blood status, Hermione, to question in the utmost violent ways.

Hermione had no idea if the boys had a plan or not or even where they were currently located in the Malfoy Manor, and honestly, she didn't care what was happening to them right now.

She just wanted the pain to stop.

She couldn't focus, her mind was a scattered jumble, and her vision jumped between double vision and a constant spinning.

The continuous beating of fists in her body and the slicing and piercing in her limbs continued.

Bellatrix cackled evilly and danced around her flailing body, keeping her wand trained on the girl as the screeches fueled her onward. For Bellatrix, this entertainment at its finest. Torturing Mudbloods and Blood-traitors had always been her favorite part of her position in the Dark Lord's ranks, and found the screams of her victims as , Draco and Narcissia Malfoy watched off to the side of the room, attempting to ignore the evil activities taking place, as they waited for the teen's resolve to break and for the information to come pouring out. Lucius had grown impatient and was beyond excited to call the Dark Lord to come destroy the boy and to once again regain his good position.

"Really, Bella, would it not be beneficial to see if the girl has some information to give before you kill her?" The eldest blonde drawled over the screeches, secretly wishing to preserve what was left of his hearing.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and lazily discontinued the curse.

Hermione Granger gasped wildly, body still twitching from the after-shock of the pain. Overpowering tears came more forcefully than when the curse was taking place, and sobs racked her body along with occasional spasms.

For the first time in her life she wanted to praise Lucius Malfoy and his existence.

"You, my dear Lucius, are too anxious to regain your position in my Master's good graces." She sauntered over to his tired looking form, and circled him, tracing his jaw with the tip of her wand, lazily, as she spoke in her twisted, gleeful, giggles.

He seemed to huff out his annoyance, and Bellatrix ignored him, instead prancing back over to the sobbing girl.

Hermione was still on the floor silent tears pouring from her terribly bruised and bloodied face. Her arm carved and engraved, with the permanent reminder of what she was, a Mudblood.

That had been the first thing Bellatrix had done to her; carve the disgusting foul word into her arm. After what had felt like an eternity of constant torture curses- Hermione could swear she had built up an immunity to them- she had finally been given a moment to try and survive.

She couldn't look at the disgusting and foul word that would never heal.

The words that would never go away.

Tremors and twitches still rocked her body, but she remained dead on the floor, trying to regain her strength, trying not to break.

She didn't want to crack.

She didn't want to give up hope.

Because when she gave up hope of winning, she also gave up hope of living.

But it hurt so much to try.

But she would do it for Harry.

For Ron.

Hermione had always considered herself more resilient and braver than most girls her age, having spent most her life around a boy who was a magnet for dangerous situations. She did not regard herself this way out of conceitedness, she only recognized that many other girls, such as Lavender Brown, and even girls from her own house, who were well known for being brave, could never cope or even stay sane with Harry as a best friend. From being petrified in her second year to facing deranged Death Eaters in her fifth in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries to being on the run from Voldemort for almost a year, and everything else these past crazy years have had to offer. Being friends with Harry was a huge burden on her mind and body, constantly pushed to her emotional and physical breaking point. However, she had never seen it that way, and she was sure she never could. She would go to the ends of earth and back for Harry, she would die for him, and she had no doubt he would do the same for her.

But as she silently shuttered and sobbed she couldn't come up with a single reason why she would ever suffer anything so horrendous for anyone.

Bellatrix stalked over to where the girl laid, and Hermione, despite her body's protest, tried to scramble up and, unsuccessfully, tried dodging the witch. Before she could even fully had a chance to sit up, she was groaning and on her back from a very painful kick to the stomach.

"Come on you little bitch,", the nutty woman spat teasingly, "Sit up in the presences of your superiors, Mudblood!", and she laughed when she saw Hermione wince away from the terrible word. Hermione could only wonder how such a deranged witch could be in such high ranks with Voldemort.

When Hermione didn't move the deranged witch gave a squeal of delight, before grabbing a fist full of curly and bloody hair before yanking the girl onto her knees, while prompting a scream from the girl.

"Now tell me, girl!" Bellatrix crouched dangerously over the girl and shouted evilly into her ear, "How did you get into my vault? How did you know the Sword of Gryffindor was in there?"

Hermione shook her head only wanting her hair to be released from Bellatrix's painful hold. Her back ached from the position she was situated in and was fairly certain that her limbs wouldn't hold her up much longer. The psychotic witch smiled and tightened her hold on the younger witch's hair, yanked more forcefully until the girl was sobbing again.

"You little piece of shit! Tell me now!" The woman screeched.

"W-w-e did-dn't take-"

"Lies!"

Bellatrix shoved the girl away with a thud, causing Hermione to give a shout of pain, before circling around her to her right hand which was splayed out in front of her.

Hermione whimpered, praying if she stayed still Bellatrix might become bored and leave her alone.

But the unstable woman did not give up so easily.

Then suddenly, Hermione's hand was scorching and she tried to yank it away from whatever was putting pressure on it, but it wouldn't budge. She felt it crack several times as the weight twisted violently on her hand. She looked over, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice begging for the pain to stop, and sickly saw Bellatrix's heel of her boot dug deeply into her hand. She yanked violently at her hand, searching for release, but it only ended up hurting more to pull at it.

She was oblivious to Bellatrix screeching into her ear, and her voice begging for mercy.

Suddenly Bellatrix's weight was gone and Hermione sobbed as she took her broken hand and cradled it in her body.

"Get me the Goblin!", She screeched.

She took a jagged breath before hesitantly glancing at her was obvious her hand was broken in several place, and blood was starting to steadily flow out of the broken skin. She faintly heard something being dragged up the stairs. Hermione could feel herself becoming wobbly and drifting in and out of conciseness, and became dizzyingly aware that there was another conversation going on somewhere in the room.

"Tell me! How did those traitors get into my vault!"

There was more rumbling of conversation, and Hermione realized she had never seen a ceiling spin in such a way. It swayed and wobbled around and she felt as though eyes were going in different directions

"-obviously fake. Yes, this is most definitely a copy." She heard the goblin wheeze out.

"Are you sure?" Bellatrix asked hopefully "Quite sure?"

"Yes."

She heard gleeful cackling from Bellatrix as she tried to order her thoughts in an appropriate manner.

"Ah, good." Bellatrix giggled in a relieved tone.

She dismissed the Goblin and merrily spun towards the Malfoys.

"And now," she said in a triumphant voice, "we call the Dark Lord!"

Hermione's heart lurched as she saw Bellatrix pull back her sleeve and touch the Dark Mark tattooed to her skin.

Hermione felt a sudden rage and disgust pulse through her for Voldemort, stronger than she ever thought possible, as she began to tremble with not only pain but anger as well. She had never felt such pure loathing bubble up in her before.

He had caused all of it. All the times someone had called her a Mudblood or treated her different because of her blood status. The pain her friends and family endured and the pain she had suffered, it was all him.

Harry's parent's, her parent's memory, and the lives of so many, like Mad-Eye, Sirius, and Dumbledore, were all because of him. All the good things in their lives had been destroyed by him.

Hermione grunted as her body tremored again, losing her angering thoughts, and making Bellatrix spin her attention back to her.

"Oh, you." She said disgustedly as she looked upon the bloodied and bruised mess twitching on the floor."I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Grayback, take her if you want her." She said to one of the greedy looking snatchers that were still standing in the corner of the room. He took a step forward to claim his prize before he was interrupted.

A red haired explosion took place at the other end of the room rocketing everyone into a battle position except for Hermione.

"Expelliarmus!" Ron screamed.

Suddenly everything happened very quickly.

Harry, Ron, and Dobby were across the room yelling.

Bellatrix and Draco were disarmed.

Bellatrix leapt for Hermione, but she had gained enough strength and was able to scramble to the edge of the room underneath the big stain glass windows, still clutching her broken hand to her chest, and out of reach of Bellatrix. Then, the chandelier fell from the high ceiling and almost crushed a murderous Bellatrix and prevented her from making another attempt for the struggling girl. Bellatrix screeched as she dove away from Hermione and the falling chandelier. Curses were being thrown by everyone who had wands and there was pure confusion.

"HERMIONE!"

Her head vision snapped in the direction of her name and when she found them her heart dropped.

The boys and Dobby were waiting for her at the other end of the room.

Honestly, how stupid could they get!

They needed to leave before they got killed.

Never mind her, she could deal with herself, and they only needed to save themselves. The selfish feelings from when she was under the Crucio had dissipated, and she was once again the selfless Hermione that would die for the boys she loved.

The desperateness she felt pooled inside her frightened her, but not as much as the idea of her friends dying because she couldn't physically make it across the room without getting hit by a curse. She honestly did not think she could even make it across the room without collapsing.

But she had to try.

She knew her boys better than anyone, and they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

She stumbled onto her shaky legs and began to move along the wall, using only her good hand. The other Death Eaters were too transfixed on the escapees to notice her, she only had to move slowly along the wall and dodge any obscure spells. One caught a little too close to the wall next to her and she lost her balance dodging it and landed on her tailbone with a thump.

Then, like most of the trio's experiences, everything got worse.

A tunnel of dark smoke broke through one of the windows and rained down jagged pieces of glass on Hermione. She folded into herself trying to protect as much as she could from the jagged glass pouring down. she felt a few pieces scratch her unclothed skin giving her more nicks and cuts. She could only look up in horror when she realized who was now making their grand appearance of the night. The dark tunnel of smoke swirled around the dark, large, room before landing in the center with a thunderous clap on the marble dark long robes swished from the wind now coming through the very open window, and the pale skin was unscathed from the window's sharp pieces.

Surprisingly, to Hermione, he was barefoot, and his long toes matched his extraordinarily long fingers.

It was a funny thing to regard, but Hermione couldn't help but notice such trivial things sometimes.   


Her vision snapped up from his feet as he made a sudden movement with his arm bringing his wand up readily.

Voldemort quickly had his wand and eyes trained on Harry.

Hermione snapped her vision to her best friends.

They were exchanging curses with Death Eaters who were quickly outnumbering the three of boys were refusing to leave without her risking their own lives.

She knew she wouldn't be able to get to them in time before Voldemort got his chance.

They needed to leave before they got killed.

"HARRY! GO!"

At the sound of her voice, red serpent eyes snapped in her direction. With his sharp gaze on her she realized how much closer he had landed to her than before. He looked like death itself with his gray and veiny skin and Hermione unmistakably saw a deep frown on his face replace smirk that had been placed there only moments ago.

Something in his look scared her, the intense way his eyes raked over her figure, and when his eyes once again reached hers, she was visibly shaking, and not just from the pain she was still experiencing.

Quicker than she had ever seen a spell produced before, he flicked his wrist in an unidentifiable pattern, and the last thing Hermione heard before being enveloped by a green light was someone screaming her name.

Then the pain stopped.

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**A/N: Okay**_** so.. Thank you and let me know what you thought!**_


	2. The Beginning

**A/N: Hey Everyone!**

**First, Thank you to everyone who followed and reviewed this story! You guys made me think it might not be so bad! Thank You! **

**Second, this is probably historically incorrect when it comes to the years of Blitzkrieg in World War II but I needed to be this way for the story to kind of work. It isn't that badly distorted, just slightly by a few years. If you have a problem with this **_**don't read.**_

**Third, I only read over this once because I'm exhausted from writing all day so if there's mistakes either ignore them or let me know. I'm sure there a few, I'd be amazed if there wasn't. Ill fix them later.**

**Enjoy!**

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August 15, 1944

Tom trudged his way back to the orphanage, through the deserted streets of London, his hands in his pockets, scowling bemusedly at the damaged sidewalk traveling below his feet. The once architecturally handsome buildings, crumbled down onto the sidewalk and street, causing Voldemort to slowly maneuver his way through the rubble. He was in one of the areas of London that had been recently berated by the German Luftwaffe.

It was late, being fully dark with twinkling lights pebbling the sky. He knew Mrs. Cole would have his skin for being out so late, like always, but he really could care less. She was always anxious about safety as of late, with the war raging. He only had a few weeks left until he started Hogwarts for his final year, and then he wouldn't have to return to that depressing place ever again. He abhorred the pale excuse for a home that he was shackled in, as if he were merely a filthy muggle. He never willingly spent time at the orphanage, if he had any say in the matter.

And usually he did.

Mrs. Cole was a mule of a woman, but he always found a way to… persuade… her.

Of course, he would never hurt the woman, under no circumstances would he do something so stupid. To risk being expelled from the one thing that made him free of the orphanage, would be one of the daftest things he could do. No, he had to remain at Hogwarts, if he wanted to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position when Professor Merrythought retired.

But he did have other ways of persuading the woman. One meaningful glance from him, and that would shut the hag right up. He had a way of scaring the bint right out of her socks, with only a twitch of the hand. She was incredibly jumpy around him, ever since the summer after his first year.

He had been perfectly content, sitting on the front steps of the orphanage, with a book in his lap that he had stolen from the Hogwarts Library. He had easily snuck a few books past the always sleeping Librarian, Madam Hall, and had taken it back to the orphanage to study over the summer. At the time, he didn't have the money to buy new or even used books to read over the holiday, and he was not going to be stuck in the Muggle world without a single thing that could link him back to the only world that granted him the success and power he had been searching for. He had been intrigued by the vague information Professor Merrythought had offered over the course of the year and decided to delve deeper into some of the Dark Arts he was learning to defend against.

He was reading about some dark curses he wasn't meant to learn about until fourth year when Billy Foster and a group of other kids taking residency at the orphanage had come looking for a fight. They were fond of mocking him and occasionally even roughed him up a bit if they thought they could get away with it.

Rumors had spread, and most kids at the orphanage figured he was attending an institute for the mentally insane. He made an effort to keep to himself, which was not too challenging at all, always being on the quiet side, but ever since he had gotten back from his first year at Hogwarts it became increasingly difficult. He usually did a fine job of ignoring Foster and his gang of friends but that day Billy was determined to pick a fight.

After a few scratching comments from Foster about Tom's non-existent family and not getting the reaction he wanted, he dove for Tom's book, and at the time, being taller than Tom, held it out of Tom's reach.

Tom had not reacted well to say the least.

After a few failed attempts of jumping to regain his stolen book and a few biting comments about Fosters' own family, Tom, with clenched fists, closed his eyes momentarily and allowed his anger to boil even more. He wasn't agreeable to other people taking his things. If it was his, it was bloody well going to stay his. And if he wanted it, it would eventually be his, no matter what the cost.

Billy screaming snapped him to attention. He found the book's pages had morphed into jagged teeth, and had taken all of Billy's hand up to the wrist into its makeshift mouth and was gnawing on it. When Mrs. Cole had run out to see what all the screaming had been about, she was horrified and looked in a state of shock between the book and Tom, before grabbing the binding of the book and yanking it of the blubbering boy's arm.

The Ministry of Magic had considered the incident too minor to try and erase the memories of the boys who had seen it and merely slapped Tom on the wrist. His school records had been completely clean and the official in charge of the incident believed it was only because Tom let his emotions get the best of him. After everything had been settled, Mrs. Cole eventually convinced the boys it was a mean prank played by Tom, though they never really believed her.

Mrs. Cole remained vigilant from a distance and was often jumpy.

Other rumors took place of the arm eating book story throughout the years at the orphanage, and each one became more stretched and exaggerated than the last. From that day on, no one at the orphanage would dare talk to Tom, or even look at him in a bad manner out of fear. Tom appreciated the rumors because it kept everyone at the muggle infested orphanage out of his business.

He only stayed at that pathetic excuse of a home to eat and sleep. Sometimes when Mrs. Cole was incredibly stubborn, or in a cranky mood, he would stay and dismally do his assigned chores, if only to conciliate the lady's temper and to keep her from pulling him out of Hogwarts. He absolutely loathed she had that power over him, and more than once had she threatened to not allow him to return to Hogwarts. She, unfortunately, was his legal guardian, and had complete knowledge that he was a wizard, and with one letter to Hogwarts could request his discontinuation of enrollment.

He did try to keep a charade of politeness towards the woman, just like he did at Hogwarts to his professors, but only for show.

When he wasn't at the orphanage, he would normally just wander the streets of London. He sometimes would admire the rubble of buildings that had been destroyed by the Germans, earlier in the war. He could admit appreciated the stupidity of the Muggles, and how easily they destroyed themselves. He could never feel sorrow for the mangled bodies, the victims of the bombings, he found when wandering muggle London. He just wasn't built to feel those kind of emotions for creatures so beneath him. Even though he wasn't pueblood- thanks to his father- he was well above in status than ordinary muggles.

Other times, when he was avoiding the orphanage, he went to Diagon Ally, like today, to at least be surrounded by tolerable people, who actually had standards and worth. He could only tolerate so much of the filthy Muggles and their idiotic wars.

He hated the thought of these muggles, believing in their own importance, running around seeking to control each other, and their pitiful governments collapsing with the slightest disturbance. He could not understand how some wizards and witches could willingly mate with muggles, or how some could see fit, for mudbloods to infiltrate wizarding society. It was all a ludicrous idea that many sympathizers played with.

He did not see the need for incompetent, muggle-raised, mudbloods, to be interfering in the wizarding world. Magic stealing mudbloods were a subwizard race, blessed with the ability of magic and cursed with the brain of muggles. Pea-brained mudbloods, raised with their ideas of equality and democracy, encroaching on wizarding society, determined to erupt change, where their change was not asked for nor appreciated.

The wizarding word had continuously been similar to how it had been hundreds of years ago with very little difference in society, and now mudbloods were trying to attempt change, with their strengthening beliefs that they had a right to practice magic.

It was a sickening thought.

Despite his upbringing in the disadvantages of muggle society, he was able to see the large difference in the refinement of wizards and the barbaric manner of muggles. Mudbloods were not raised in an atmosphere that might allow them to understand the wizarding world fully nor would they ever, always having the outside muggle word, affect their thoughts and choices.

All these intense feelings of hate, disgust, and resentment, were easily concealed. He was a master at masking his feelings no matter how strong it boiled on the inside, he could remain indifferent.

Tom suddenly stopped, startled out of his loathing thoughts, as he heard the sirens start to life as they began to wail their warning scream throughout the city. London was being attacked again. The Blitzkrieg, Germany's way to reinstate fear in the people of London.

Tom swore as he picked up his pace.

The Muggles had nothing better to do than fight a war. That was another reason why Muggles were so absurd. They were rash enough to fight back when Germany obviously, was more powerful. They just caused more harm than good, trying to fight something stronger than themselves.

Continuing to dodge debris that littered the street he began to wonder where the Germans were targeting this time.

He wasn't worried that he was going to get injured; quite the opposite. He just found it utterly annoying to hear the constant detonations of explosions.

If needed, he could simply pull out his wand to protect himself; he was after all, of age to use magic.

He heard an explosion come from somewhere across the city, and he could only shake his head, before increasing his pace once again, directing to his place of board.

_Only a few more weeks until I'm free of here._

* * *

Mrs. Cole had always been an admirable, kind, and thoughtful lady. She cared for the children of the orphanage as if they were her own. She loved what she did, caring for the children, who did not have anyone to care for them. But she also had to be firm, in a time of war, and not everything could be rainbows and butterflies.

The war had been storming for years, causing most children to mature at a considerable young age. Most children didn't have the spirit to play, when bombs dropped in the streets above, as they hid in a cellar underground. Many of the children had come to be in her care during the Blitz, losing their entire families when the bombs exploded, as the Nazis dropped bombs from the skies, almost every night for a year. It seemed as though the bombing of London would never end.

But it had.

They were attacked occasionally, and she and her wards, were rushed down to the cellar to ride out the attack. So far they had remained untouched, unlike many of their surroundings, and most children had been kept safe.

Most, meaning a few of her older boys, were the ones who had been deeply affected by such a horrendous war. The older boys, her youngest who was enlisted was sixteen, had been taken into the military over the course of the war. She had no objection to the enlistment, believing it was a great honor for her boys to serve and protect their country.

All of her older male wards had been sent off to war.

All except one.

Tom was a strange boy, who had over the years, had only grown odder and more sinister. She had been reassured by the professor who had come years ago, that the school he had been accepted to was a school for the talented, but she often wondered if the strange institute, which she had never heard of before, was only encouraging his behavior. Every summer he came back, he only worried her more and more. When she tried to force the boy to enlist, the school had refused to allow the young man to serve, insisting that his education was essential to him.

Now, as she ushered her wards into the cellar, as the city was unmercifully bombarded with explosions above, she couldn't help but envision sending the missing boy into service, voiding the schools wishes, to spare her nerves. He always was missing, worrying her poor nerves, and when he was at home he deliberately startled her, making her heart jump, and aging her months each time.

As she finished corralling the children into the cellar, which doubled as a bomb shelter, she made her way up to the front door. She was fairly certain the boy would not be waiting on the doorstep or strolling up the street, to come home and wait the attack out in the cellar, but she always left the door unlocked for the boy for when he finally came back.

As Mrs. Cole twisted the lock on the door knob into the unlocked position, she had a momentary will to look outside for Tom.

It was an abnormally cool night for August, but Mrs. Cole thought nothing of it as she scanned the street up and down as far as she could see for the dark haired boy. The night sky would occasionally light up with an explosion and blast the sound for all to hear. Fortunately the attacks seemed to be directed some ways away, almost at a safe distance. The street outside was empty, neighbors hiding themselves in their own shelters. She didn't see the troublesome boy and cursed him and his damned wandering habits.

She chanced a look down at the ground before her as she began to step inside, resigning looking for Tom, only to be set still as asphalt.

At her feet, laid almost peacefully, was a bulk of cloth, blood, and a giant mass of brown hair.

Mrs. Cole screamed which came out as a hoarse cackle, and felt her heart stall.

The long hair was tangled and matted with blood and dirt, and was splayed across the form's face, giving the figure the look of a featureless pile of body parts.

The figure lay on its back, limbs spread across the cement sidewalk.

Once the old woman's shrieks died, they were replaced with the sounds of heavy beating of her heart in her ears, while the explosions in the background continued to demand her attention.

Mrs. Cole slowly lowered herself, all the while her heart beating in a feverous panic, as she began to determine if the unknown mass was living.

It was.

The small figure was covered in blood on the waist of the tattered shirt and right hand, while blood was splattered over the remaining areas of unaffected body and clothing. The old woman continued her assessment by moving the bushy hair to the side, to reveal the features of a female.

The girl wore funny clothes, including trousers made of a denim material and a shirt not a blouse she was accustomed to seeing girls wear.

Mrs. Cole, letting her nurturing side take control, and ignoring the strange clothes the girl possessed, began to assess the damage and care for the injuries and began to attempt to bring the girl to conciseness.

Something was off about the girl.

Where had she come from?

Was she caught up in the bombing?

That would explain the injuries.

But if so, how did she get to be left upon her doorstep if the bombing was at least a few miles away?

Mrs. Cole's thoughts ran rampant through her mind as she tried to look at the injuries on the girl's hand. It appeared to be broken in many places.

Mrs. Cole sighed as she realized how long it would take for all the injuries to heal. She would be left with many scars if she didn't get medical attention soon, and the luck of getting a doctor after a bombing was slim.

"What is that?"

Mrs. Cole's head shot up to see the exact boy she had been looking for before she had laid her eyes on the jumble mess below her. Mrs. Cole raised herself from her kneeling position by the poor girl's head to face the dark teenager who stood before her.

He had seen the woman bent over a dark figure from up the street, and it had spiked his curiosity. So instead of sneaking in the back like he normally did he chose to approach her and the battered body at her feet.

He looked as perfect as he had when he left in the mornings, not a hair out of place and clothing looking as if they had just been pressed, comparatively to the now panicky eyed woman whose hair had flown wildly from her bun from the stress of the day. As he appraised the dirty figure strewn across the ground, his dark eyes hid his curiosity and wariness he felt, instead, only revealing his unreadable stare.

"Tom!" She shirked in a scolding manner, continuing, "You nearly put me to an early death! Where have you been? Oh, never mind-" She was interrupted by a small moan let loose from the girl's mouth.

She jumped back down, returning her attention to the damaged girl, who remained unconscious, ignoring the young Dark Lord's question.

"She might come to soon", Mrs. Cole said almost to herself.

He continued to stare down at the girl, as Mrs. Cole frantically cared for the girl. He thought about leaving, either going inside or going on another walk, but his curiosity was insistent.

"Who is she?" Tom questioned again, only to be shushed by the working woman.

_Who did this lady think she was, shushing him?_

Tom sighed and once again considered going inside and repeatedly wondered why he hadn't already. He was tired, hungry, and not really in the mood to deal with muggles.

An eruption sounded, closer than any before. Mrs. Cole stopped her examination of her patient and looked once in the direction of where the explosion had taken place, back towards the door of the orphanage and then back down to the mangled girl. Mrs. Cole huffed out a breath and mutter a string of curses about the damn war

The old lady looked up to him, once again the precarious situation they were in.

"Oh Tom- be a dear, help me carry the poor thing inside. We can't leave her here, in her state-"

I'm. Not. Touching. That. Thing.

"-bleed to death within the next few hours if she doesn't get medical-"

No.

"- it would be cruel to leave the girl here to die."

His mind spat all the foul mouthed things he couldn't possibly say aloud. So badly he wanted to refuse. He wanted to spit in her face and tell her how much he hated her. How much he wanted to kill her.

But he couldn't. It wouldn't look good. It wouldn't allow him to get where he wanted, to get to where he could follow out his plan. He reasoned if he wanted to remain in Mrs. Cole's good graces he would need to oblige to her request, as much as he wouldn't want to get muggle blood on his person. He only had a few weeks left anyways, and he would never have to set foot in the damnable place again or deal with the senile lady.

"Of course." He said resisting the urge to grit his teeth keeping a slight kind and concerned edge in his voice. He must've not done that great of a job though because Mrs. Cole gave him a curious look before turning and opening the door for him and the girl.

He lowered himself slowly and much more gracefully than should be humanly possible. Picking up the limp girl in his arms, he could smell the distinct smell of her blood and knew it was already on him staining his clothes.

As he adjusted his hold his bare hand made contact with the bare skin of her arm, and a vision flashed before his eyes.

_The room was dark and dungeon-like. It almost reminded him of the Slytherin Common rooms. Almost. It was different. It sounded strange, but it felt more mature and developed than the dungeon at Hogwarts. It was very detailed so Tom was sure it wasn't a memory of any kind. _

_Both the ground and walls were made of stone and the very large empty room only held one thing._

_It was a figure, tall and pale. It had billowing black robes that were draped elegantly around his arms and body cascading to the ground. His back was positioned towards Tom and the bald humanoid figure stood with his head held high. Suddenly, he assumed it was the figure, called out to him._

_In Parseltounge._

"_Tom."_

Tom inhaled sharply, as he snapped out of what had felt like a very realistic dream. It had seemed like he had been in the room, like he could feel the chilly atmosphere envelop him or that he could hear his name echoed of the walls. Tom inquisitively looked down at the little bloody thing in his arms, and realized it must have been when he touched her skin that he got the vision. He was no longer touching the exposed skin on her arm, but had an urge to touch her again to see if it would happen again.

"Tom?" Mrs. Cole asked worriedly, snapping him out of his daze.

He realized her had been standing and staring at the girl in his arms for too long, and his eyes broke away and up to Mrs. Cole. He thought of an excuse quickly.

"I didn't realize she would be so cold," Tom said interestedly.

She looked at him questioningly, before ushering him to hurry inside. He was interested to see what would happen if he touched her again, but he would have to wait. He needed to do this without witnesses to figure out whatever that was when he touched her. If it was an ancient or was it put there. One thing was for sure, she wasn't a muggle.

He furrowed his brow, and held the form as far as his hold would allow him, struggling to evade any blood from staining his clothes any further and to prevent him from touching her again. He followed a distressed Mrs. Cole inside, all the way Tom ignored her, lost in thought.

* * *

**A/N: Hey so tell me what you think and I hope it's to your guy's liking. Review and let me know!**

**If you see any mistakes let me know.**

**(P.s. This is a shorter chapter also my goal is to make them much longer!)**


	3. The Wounds

**A/N: Happy New Years! I'm two hours into the new year where I live and I think a great way to start off the year is updating this story! Just kidding... It took me three days to write this and it just happens that I finished in the New Year. It took me so long because its over 7,000 words so hopefully you will enjoy!**

**Okay now that I'm done ranting you can read. **

**Go on.**

* * *

Hermione startled awake with a gasp.

She hadn't the faintest clue as to where she was located. Was she still at Malfoy manor? Where were the boys?

Had she been passed out? Yes, she most certainly had. But that didn't explain where she was. Had the boys rescued her somehow?

She looked through the haziness that clouded her mind and glanced around for the first time to gauge if her surroundings were at all familiar.

The small white room was furnished in only a single well used metal-framed bed, a dresser with paint that had long ago been chipped off, and a single small bed table with a lamp perched on it that looked way too ancient to even function correctly.

A warm sweet breeze floated in on the sun rays that shined through the partially open window. The squeals and soft laughs of children reached her ears from somewhere outside the room.

All these things let her know she was no longer where she had been the last time she was conscious.

The Malfoy manor was cold and dark not warm and sunny. They preferred black painted walls as opposed to white. And there was definitely never a single gleeful child on the premises. She even heard Muggle cars from outside and that made it apparent this was not the grand wizard estate where she had been held hostage.

Hermione tentatively pushed back the white linen sheets, as she cautiously scanned the room for more hints as to where she was. The lack of anything remotely magical and how plain and simple the room was lead her to believe the room most likely belonged to a muggle.

Her body, she appraised, as she proceeded to remove the covers that had been restraining her to the bed, was incredibly achy and sore. She tested herself as she moved and found her joints and muscles felt weak and tender. As she continued to move she also noticed she was incapable of moving one of her hands. Glancing down, it appeared to be wrapped tightly in a muggle bandage.

_Now, why would her hand be-_

…_Oh. _

She began to remember _who and what_ led to her injuries and unfortunate wounds.

Also why she couldn't find her wand.

She began to remember certain things that had happened, and tentatively took her broken hand and lightly skimmed it over her forearm where the ugly word that was infinitely plastered to her skin was only shielded from her vision by the thin cloth of her sleeve.

Shaking her head, before the tears of emotional and physical pain spilled, she pushed all the memories deep down. She refused to think about what she experienced and who caused all of her uncomfortable pain. She couldn't even think the name, fearing even the name itself would cause an unneeded breakdown. Besides, she wasn't out of the woods yet. She still had to remain on guard and learn where she was.

She had been so intrigued to know where she had come to be, she had been unaware of how sore her body had been made. Everything felt like it had been stretched, cut, crushed, and all glued back together again into a poorly constructed rendition of herself. It took her several tries to stretch far enough forward into a sitting position to fully move the covers back.

But she was a Gryffindor. She could hold her own and she would push through.

She wasn't sure where to find Harry and Ron, and she needed to make sure they weren't in trouble. She didn't have the faintest clue of what Voldemort had done to her, either, but no doubt he had somehow caused her to end up in her particular predicament.

Groaning only a little, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and noticed how stiff her body felt. Her joints didn't want to bend and she finally began to believe that leaving the bed was not the best option for her health.

Unfortunately, she was a determined girl and began to rise, pushing off the bed with her free hand. Her legs wobbled under her as she gained her footing and was forced to grab onto the edge of the dresser in front of her to steady herself. Her heavy breathing proved to her the task at hand was much more challenging than she previously thought.

She looked down and noticed she had been changed out of her old clothes, undoubtedly bloodied and torn bits of fabric by now. They had been dirtied and worn down enough, even before her blood had saturated them. She had been wearing them for almost an entire week only using a _Scourgify _to clean them on the days they felt exhaustively disgusting, and then had rolled in the dirt with those ratty snatchers that had picked them up brought the trio to the Malfoy manor where her clothes were finally soiled by drenching them in her blood.

It made her nervous and fidgety to know some unknown person had changed her clothing, even more so than her unsteady legs, which would most definitely topple out beneath her if she was to let go of her support.

She had been changed into a well-worn modest long-sleeved dressing gown that was too short to even cover her ankles or bare feet.

Unexpectedly, she heard two muffled voices outside the room, causing Hermione to freeze in her attempts of standing, still mildly supported by the dresser. Her heart began to pound as she realized how very badly everything could turn out if these people weren't the good guys. For all she knew, she could be playing prisoner to Death Eaters who like to play head games and make everything seem perfectly muggle and safe, then turn around and torture her.

As the brass handle to the door turned and was pushed forward, Hermione made a last minute decision to try and get back in bed and pretend to be sleeping, but her legs failed her and were tugged out from under her as she let go of the dresser to dive in the bed.

She landed on her bum with a hard _whack_.

"Oh, my!"

An elderly woman gasped as she saw her patient land on the floor.

Hermione, startled by the two visitors, scrambled gracelessly back onto her wobbly feet, collapsed again, but this time landed on the bed, which gave out a protest of noise as she fell back on it. Hermione groaned, slightly embarrassed from having fallen twice and mostly from landing so hard on her bum.

"Oh you poor dear!" The woman shrieked and quickly approached the groaning girl and ushered her fully back onto the bed so she could administer care.

"Please, lie back down! You wouldn't want to injure anything else now would you?" She fussed over Hermione, lifting the covers and trying to reposition her on the bed.

The pain subsided swiftly and Hermione instantly became guarded as she assessed the woman determining if she was a danger or not. The woman seemed oblivious to Hermione's sudden mood swing, as the woman began to look over some of her easily reached wounds.

"Are you alright?" The woman asked her skeptically.

When Hermione nodded the woman let out a sigh of relief and began to administer attention to the broken hand.

"You should be more careful. If you had landed on that hand, all that time I spent setting those bones would be for nothing," She huffed and Hermione felt her guard slip a bit when she realized the woman reminded her a bit of how Mrs. Weasely fussed over people.

The woman was small, much shorter than Hermione, and had thin, slightly graying, mousy brown hair. Her face looked as if she had once had a compassionate looking face, but too many years of frowning had stretched it out a great deal, making it harsh and rough.

"You have some luck you know," She said a matter-of-factly, almost belittlingly, "If you had shown up on anyone else's doorstep they wouldn't have known what to do about your injuries. They might have just left you there right on the front step and let you bled out. Lucky for you, you chose my doorstep, and I was once a nurse. I picked up a lot of valuable skills in that trade that might have just saved your life." She nodded curtly and began to move her hand from Hermione broken hand to her face where several deep cuts were present above her eye.

"Thanks…" She said unsure of what else to say. She had a million questions, but she wasn't even sure what she should or should not ask. Hermione was beyond confused. It sounded ridiculous, just being left on a doorstep, but the woman seemed so truthful that Hermione didn't question it.

"How _did_ you end up on my doorstep?" The woman paused in her attentions, earnestly curious as to the answer.

_There's the million Galleon question. _

"I-I honestly d-don't really know. I don't know where here is and I don't even know who you are." Hermione stammered, speaking for the first time.

"Hmm." The lady paused thoughtfully then finished putting some kind of cream on Hermione's gashes on her face. She didn't protest.

"We will get these healed right away and maybe the scaring won't be too noticeable." The nurse patted Hermione's arm before getting up and digging in a drawer for other supplies.

"Huh?" Hermione seemed confused as to why it would be so important for there not to be a scar left behind. Even though she would prefer there not be one she didn't see how it mattered as long as she lived.

The lady ignored her and decided to fill the girl in on what she could.

"Well, you showed up in quite a state at the front door of this local orphanage I oversee here in this part of London. You turned up on the doorstep looking like you had been through a war- though I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't- and wholly unconscious. I treated some of your worst wounds, and even though I pride myself in being a talented nurse, I am afraid you're going to be left with scars." Hermione shook her head not really caring about the idea much. Once she could get ahold of her wand she could heal everything within minutes with relatively little evidence left to remind her of the torture session with that crazy _woman_.

"Although, I hope you don't mind, I had to fit you in my dress so I could wash those disgusting clothes you arrived in. No insult intended, dear." She added sincerely. She considered the clothes the girl had arrived in were too strange for any young lady and promptly disposed of them.

Hermione shook her head unaffected by the nurse's opinion.

"Anyways, you stayed unconscious for two days and woke up briefly last night. Though, I don't think you were fully there because you kept babbling someone by the name of Ron_._." She said patting Hermione's arm again, and Hermione blushed slightly.

" Well, then you woke up today, and here we are." She finished happily, clapping her hands, before remembering, "Oh! You may call me Mrs. Cole and that missy over there is named Cindy. She offered to help you with your recovery and helping you around the orphanage when you feel up to it." She said proudly, and Hermione greeted the tall, but young, red-headed girl standing inside the open doorway, who blushed and mumbled a hello back to Hermione.

"What's your name dear?"

"Hermione." She saw no harm giving these people her real name.

"Very lovely name."

Mrs. Cole smiled at Hermione and continued to treat the cuts and bruises on one of her shoulders. Hermione would wince every time Mrs. Cole would touch a part of her shoulder wrong, not being used to the muggle way any longer after having become accustomed to the quick and efficient solutions wands offered.

Hermione had soon decided the two muggles had absolutely no idea who she was or what she was and ould be safe remaining there until she made a full recovery. Mrs. Cole babbled to Cindy about random people and things while Hermione allowed her to treat every little cut she wanted, except the words lying beneath her sleeve. Mrs. Cole threw a fit, (one that could put shame to Mrs. Weasley's) complaining she had already seen the marking and didn't care, insisting she had to clean it. Hermione declined, letting the grumbling Mrs. Cole go back to work, and instead began to wonder what had occurred to bring her to her current predicament.

It seemed unlikely that the rancorous Death Eaters would have just left her at someone's door where she would be treated and secure. Death Eaters had always seemed hell-bent on making sure she and everything she stood for was crushed by their hand. Herself, in particular, was everything they despised, being both a muggle born and best friend and supporter to Harry Potter.

She moved on, and considered what happened the seconds before her memory went blank. Lord Voldemort had done something to her, caused her to somehow end up here. But what, she was uncertain. She hadn't recognized the movements of his wand nor could recall him saying anything when he cast the unknown spell. For all she knew she could've been cursed or- _or even have been put under the influence of an Imperio_, she thought in horror. She could've done awful things to anyone, maybe even Harry or Ron. There still could've been a gap of time when horrible things could've happened between when she was at the Malfoy Manor and when she ended up here. It upset her that there was a chance she could have harmed someone.

"What's today's date?" Hermione asked worrying the edge of her nightgown.  
"It's the 18th of August."

Hermione blanched.

No that wasn't possible.

It was April. Not August.

"What?" She asked, convinced she had heard wrong.

"The 18th, dear." Mrs. Cole eyed Hermione's suddenly pale face for a moment.

"Of August?" She whispered.

"Yes."

_No._

It wasn't August. They were lying. Or teasing. Something.

She wasn't missing four months. It was not possible.

Suddenly she felt as though she desperately needed to find a familiar face. Someone she could latch onto, so she could be sure of her reality. Harry. or Ron. A Weasely. Any magical creature.

Heck, she would settle for Rita Skeeter, as long as it ensured she wasn't going barmy.

A sudden thought came to mind that convinced her she was going crazy.

"What year is it?" She asked, attempting to make her voice sound even, but failed miserably.

Mrs. Cole looked up, surprised, and eyed Hermione as if she had turned purple. Nevertheless, she answered.

"1944, dear," She said slowly, her voice laced with unease.

"_Oh._" It was a barely there sound.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Mrs. Cole asked, concerned at the bizarre question and how pale the girl had become.

"Oh yes," Hermione recovered, " I'm just famished that's all."

It wasn't a complete lie, but Mrs. Cole suddenly didn't seem too concerned about the question anymore, and more anxious about the health state the girl was in.

"Oh my goodness!" She exclaimed jumping up from Hermione's side. "I'm sorry, I should have realized. Of course, you must be starving and dehydrated. Any particular requests?"

Hermione shook her head, wishing Mrs. Cole would just leave.

"Well, yes, now don't you worry. I'll bring a tray of food back up here in no time." She fretted as she ushered the other silent girl out the door. "How incompetent of me. You must be very hungry, you've been unconscious for almost three days."

When the woman was officially gone Hermione sighed and fell back on the bed, tears threatening to escape.

"I think it's been a bit longer than three days."

* * *

Tom rolled his eyes when he heard the restless woman rushing into the kitchen.

_Really, could he never get a bit of bloody peace and quiet?_

He was perched on a stool seated at the end of the counter and had just scared away two twelve-year-olds, in order to finally have a moment of silence when Mrs. Cole ran in, and began opening random cupboards and drawers, muttering to herself.

"Poor dear," she babbled pulling out a pot from somewhere, "she probably can't even chew without something hurting."

Tom huffed angrily, which went unnoticed by the preoccupied woman. Everyone had been on his last nerves today, and he was surprised he wasn't already expelled from Hogwarts. He tried to resume where he had left off on the page he had been reading, but when Mrs. Cole began to hum as she shuffled around the kitchen, he felt something snap. He threw his book angrily on the table and eyed the woman that was irritating him, completely ignorant of his presences.

_What is she doing? Lunch isn't for another two hours, and she never makes special meals-_

He realized then that the muggle girl from a few nights ago must've finally woke up and Mrs. Cole had most likely taken it upon herself that the girl's every need was satisfied.

The girl he carried inside and stained one of his best shirts for.

_Stained with Muggle blood,_ he thought nastily.

The girl was becoming a real nuisance to Tom, since he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened when he had touched her, and she had practically been in a coma for three days. It had to be a record that someone could do so little and irritate him that much.

However, Tom had been intrigued to see what would happen next time if it had really been the girl to cause the visions. He was unfamiliar as to what magic occurred that night, and he was determined on testing it to see if he was correct in his theories. He had tried each night since then, but the room had been locked and the batty old woman practically slept with the keys to all the rooms. She had started when 'someone' had started stealing everyone's allowance back a few years ago, and decided to lock all the rooms at night.

Mrs. Cole turned around, looking for something, and was thoroughly surprised to see Tom sitting there.

"Oh, Tom. Good, you stayed in for once, instead of running off to who knows where." She scolded him, but it wasn't as strong as most days she decided to reprimand him for never being at the orphanage. She huffed again and began looking around the kitchen once more.

"The girl is finally awake. Caught her trying to get out of bed and escape, but she took a pretty hard fall- Anyways she's starving and I'm going to make soup, but I can't seem to find the stirring spoon." She stated shaking her head while digging through a drawer before turning back to him. "You haven't seen it anywhere have you?"

An irritated Tom jumped up from his seat causing his chair to make a loud noise that resulted in Mrs. Cole to flinch in surprise. Tom grabbed his book and stalked towards the door, gritting out a noise that sounded like 'no'.

Making his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, he gave anyone who got in his way an icy glare that was sure to move them from his path. Everyone moved. No one bothered him today. Any kid who could walk at the orphanage knew not to get in Tom Riddle's way. Especially on a day like today, when he had no patients to deal with anyone.

As he stalked up the stairs and to what he hoped was a place of solitude, he thought about the girl again.

She had been so scratched, bruised and bloodied; she didn't look like she was alive when he had first approached her. Mrs. Cole believed her to be in such a state from the bombings that had taken place that night. It was even stranger that she had picked this place out of all the others. Besides that, He had never seen a woman wear trousers like what she had on that night. Overall her appearance was more than a little odd.

But none of that had mattered when he had made contact with her skin. The vision that had appeared before him had haunted him that night, never giving him a moment of sleep. Not only that night but the past few nights since he had carried the girl, he would be kept awake for a considerable amount of time thinking about the apparition and the unknown figure.

It had also caused him to be more irritable than normal during the day. He would spend days looking through his collection of books for anything to explain what he had saw. He found nothing to explain the phenomenon.

He had never had so much trouble solving a problem before, and it only irritated him more that he wasn't capable of producing answers. He was convinced once he was again home at Hogwarts, he could figure how the vision had been produced. But with his lack of resources and ability to do research, he was forced to perform experiments at present instead.

He once again cursed Mrs. Cole for locking the rooms at night.

He had decided he would wait until he had an excuse to touch her, to prevent suspicion. Though he did have his doubts if an opportunity would arise, but if not he would simply create the opportunity.

With that, he began to consider what books he should look up, once he was back at Hogwarts that might aid him in his quest for an answer. He continued his way down the hallway towards his room.

Deep in thought he was unaware of the head that had poked out of a door after him.

Continuing down the long hall at the top of the stairs, he trudged down it to the boy's end of the hall praying to Merlin for solitude. The hall was empty and for a moment he thought maybe he may have finally gotten lucky.

"Pssst." It was barely there, but still audible.

Tom ignored it, not in the mood to deal with any of the obnoxious little kids that had decided it was okay to follow him up here. They should know better than that by now.

"Hey." Louder this time.

He kept walking.

"Hey you!"

Tom rounded, ready to tell off whatever pesky kid that had stupidly decided to disturb him.

He stopped short when he turned on an empty hall way.

"Over here."

He looked across the hall to find the girl that had just occupied his thoughts to be peeking out from behind a door. She made a motion for him to come to her, and briefly considered if just leaving would ruin his plans of finding out what the vision had been, since he was in such a foul mood. Deciding this was the best opportunity because they were alone and it had just presented its self all on its own, he sighed and crossed the hallway to her door. When he reached her, she seemed to pause as she stared at him, clearly unsure.

He didn't have time for this.

"What do you want?" He barked and she jumped, clearly not expecting him not to sound so cross. He usually had a better reign over his emotions but three nights without much sleep had left him with a short fuse.

"I-I just-" She swallowed and Tom could see she look terrified and shaky. Not only that but it looked like she was going to throw up.

_Great. _

She seemed to compose herself a little before asking, "What's today date?"

Tom was taken by surprise by her having so much trouble asking such an easy question. He was also angry. He didn't have time for this.

He would just have to experiment on her later, when he wasnt so tense.

"The 18th" He snapped. Turning to go, her next question was also a surprise that caused him to turn back to her.

"Of?"

"August." He ground the word out between his teeth.

She looked at him expectantly.

"It's a Tuesday." He clarified with a frustrated sigh, thinking that's what she wanted.

She let out an exasperated breath.

"I mean the year." She said in a way that made it seem as if it was obvious what she had been asking.

Of course, this caught his attention. He furrowed his brow.

"Why do you need to know the year?" He asked curiously, bad mood suddenly forgotten.

"Just answer." This time, she seemed like the irritated one. He gave her a glare, not appreciating her refusing to answer his question. No one at Hogwarts ever denied him what he wanted, but theses stupid muggles didn't know what he was capable of.

"1944."

He studied her trying to gauge if that's what she expected him to say. She seemed to grow even paler, but said nothing, obviously trying to conceal something. He wasn't sure if she meant for him to leave, but he was intrigued and decided it was his turn to interrogate.

"Not what you were expecting?"

"Of course it was." She said quickly.

"Then why did you ask me the year?" he pointed out, a knowing smirk growing on his face.

She hesitated.

"I can't seem to recall a month or so. Like it vanished from my memories. I just wanted to be sure that a month was all I was missing." She reasoned out.

She had hesitated. Tom knew it was a lie.

"What made you think you could have forgotten a year's worth of memories?"

"What makes you think I would tell you?" she retorted.

"What makes you think I wouldn't find out anyways?" He haughtily threw back at her.

She glared at him and he decided he needed to backtrack before losing any hope of being able to test the visions again. As she glared, he noticed all the cuts and scrapes she wore on her face. He also observed she didn't seem to have a problem with him viewing her in her night clothes, where most girls would've had a conniption.

She didn't appear to want to continue talking with him anymore, now that he had served her purpose because she started to back away and close the door.

He reacted quickly.

He put his hand on the door to stop it from closing, and the abrupt stop caused her to wobble. He registered how tightly she hung onto the door knob, her knuckles growing white, confirming how firm of a grip she had on the door. He noted she was using it to support herself.

Her scowl grew harder when he prevented her from escaping, and recognized he had to act quickly to make amends to ensure he could test his theory.

In fact, he knew the perfect way to serve both his needs.

"What's that?" She asked suddenly, catching him by surprise.

She was no longer glaring, and instead was interestedly looking down at his hand that held the book from Hogwarts. He pressed the book harder into his side to prevent her from reading the title.

_Shit._

He realized he had forgotten to cast a Glamour on it to prevent nosy annoying Muggles from asking questions. He had found 'An Extensive study into the Dark Unkown' in the restricted section, and tended to disguise the cover to look like a textbook when he was at Hogwarts, and muggle literature when he was at the orphanage to keep anyone from asking questions. Mrs. Cole had decidedly warned him to keep his 'special' books to himself, claiming she didn't need another incident like the first time.

"Have you really lost that much memory to not know what a book looks like?" He asked smugly, hoping to draw her attention away from the book.

She looked away from the book and back up to his face and met his provoking stare. She frowned at him for a second before ineffectively trying to close the door again. His hand was still resting on the door and seeing as she couldn't escape, she sighed.

"It looked familiar." She muttered, her gaze flicking back down to the book, the cover and binding effectively being blocked by his pant leg and hand.

He seriously doubted that. Barely anyone at Hogwarts received the chance to even lay their eyes on a book such as the one he had. Few people had the chance to even have a look at the inside of the restricted section at Hogwarts, and this muggle girl thought she recognized his book. She wouldn't be able to comprehend the first sentence.

He realized he needed to take advantage of her no longer glaring at him and put his plan into action.

He put on a look of innocent interest and held out his hand.

"Do you have a name?"

She looked up from the book that she had been staring at and looked distrustfully at him.

"Yes."

He wanted to throw the book at her then, but refrained by taking a deep breath, and instead pretended to be amused. He recognized this girl had a bit of a smart mouth, and he would need to word his questions better.

He then decided to put one of his many tools into effect, that he used when he wanted something. This one worked very well on the female population.

He let a small attractive smirk grace his face and let his eyes become dark and intense. He leaned against the door then with his arms crossed. He even leaned towards her in the slightest bit for good measure.

"Can you tell me?" He still held his hand out, and he saw her debating with herself whether or not she should give it to him. It almost pissed him off to see she hadn't imeatiatelly fallen into his spider web trap like most girls. She had her hand half way up to his deliberating, and Tom seeing this, gave her no choice. He grabbed her hand to shake and immediately he could feel himself being pulled into a new atmosphere.

_It was just like last time. Dark and cold. But it didn't bother Tom. He felt the heat wave off of him as if he had just stepped into a freezer. The figure was missing this time, no longer standing directly in the center of the room, or anywhere else from what Tom could see. He looked around searching for the deathly figure, but it turned out he couldn't see beyond what the small amount of light allowed him. It slightly confused Tom that he could see no source for the light in the room to come from. It was just there. _

_He disregarded the thought and considered other elements of the vision that might help him figure out what it exactly was he was pulled into. _

_It didn't feel in the slightest like a dream. It felt real. He could feel no traces of the place where he had just been left. This was the reality he was placed in. _

_Tom pulled out his wand and cast a Lumos._

_He began to walk around, searching for the mystery figure. He could surely get some answers out of it._

"_Tom."_

_He swung around looking in the direction where the voice had hissed from. No one. Just unmoving darkness that prevented him from examining further in the room._

"_Who are you?" Tom asked, looking around determinedly, his voice echoing off non-existent walls. The room wasn't small from what Tom could gather. In the last vision- or whatever it was- he could see the walls, but now the boarders extended off into the unknown darkness._

"_Tom Marvolo Riddle." The mystery creature said in a slippery voice._

_Tom shook his head. How could this person know his name? His full name too, very few people knew his middle name._

"_That's not your name." Tom seethed. "Answer me." Patrolling, with his wand held high above his head, he ventured farther into the unlit portion of the room._

"_Lord Voldemort." _

_Tom stopped short. He was honestly shocked. He didn't even pretend not to be. It wasn't possible for this unknown man to call him a name only his most trusted followers knew. He had only fashioned the name a few years ago, and then this unidentified girl appears and provides him with a vision of some snake-like creature, who was provoking him with the use of his own name, a name that had never even been spoken outside Hogwarts. It was uncanny, but Tom had now become more than ever determined to figure out the source of the illusions._

"_How do you know my name? Why do I have to make contact with the girl in order to come here? Who is she?" He listed hoping for some kind of reply to any of his many questions. _

_He listened. It was silent._

_He began to cautiously wander deeper into the darkness away from the limited amount of light. He stopped for a moment, straining his ears to hear better. _

_He spun in a circle trying to see the monster. He could hear it so clearly when it talked, but couldn't even see its movements. _

"_The girl…"The voice hissed directly in Tom's ear. Tom turned around again, looking directly behind him. Nothing. He was thoroughly losing his patients and could feel an unforgivable on the tip of his wand. _

"_Yes the girl. Who is she?" _

_He didn't even breathe._

" _She's called… Hermione Granger."_

_Nothing. _

_Blink._

That's just how it was. He blinked and he was once again facing the source of his problems, the girl… Hermione Granger.

Like none of it had even happened.

She stared at him strangely, and he wondered if she had seen anything. He quickly put an unreadable mask back in place and let go of her hand. She eased up in her expression and it reassured Tom that he wasn't in danger of her knowing anything, but he did wonder how long he had stood there holding her hand. Her slightly confused appearance made him think it had been longer than appropriate.

He recovered and decided to mess with her a bit.

He backed away allowing her to finally have the opportunity to close the door, but before she could he gave her a bit of a smirk.

"It was a pleasure to meet you… Hermione Granger."

* * *

He turned and strode towards his room, only getting a glimpse of the look on her face. But the glimpse told him all he needed to know.

Hermione stood there mouth slightly agape, staring after him in shock.

When Hermione had finally been left to herself after Mrs. Cole and Cindy left, she had first been in complete shock, not to any extent comprehending anything she had been told, her quick mind unusually slow. She could only sit on the bed attempting to get her head around everything that she had been thrust into it.

Then she had moved onto the next stage of trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating and letting any tears leave her eyes. She convinced herself the last thing she needed was to deal with all her unsettled emotional problems, which she had taken a habit to bottling up ever since she had gone on the run with Harry and Ron.

The next stage had been denial, refusing to believe a second of any of it. Hermione went on how it couldn't be true and that time travel to such an extent was impossible.

Finally, she slowly went into the next stage when she started grasping there were too many facts her mind had noticed proving it was obviously true. For one, the way the woman and the girl had been dressed. She realized their clothing, while it had been far from looking alien, had differed the clothing she was used to. They were both in dresses, dresses Hermione hadn't been used to, and even their hair seemed a bit strange, being so shortly styled.

But she still hadn't been fully convinced. They could've been put up to it by someone, maybe even Death Eaters wanted to play mind games with her. It seemed unlikely, but she decided she needed more proof.

But she also considered how she could've even ended up in the past if that was in fact where she was. It must've been whatever Voldemort had done. Hermione was anxious to know why he would possibly send her back in time and not just kill her, but more importantly to her, how had he done it and was there a way to reverse it?

She had shakily stood up and hobbled her way over to the door, using the walls and dresser for support. When she had finally reached the door she had peeked out to make sure Mrs. Cole wasn't coming. Once confirming she was safe, Hermione was just about to venture out of the room to find someone who she could verify the date with, when a boy, about her age, came bounding up the stairs at one end of the hallway.

He was extremely tall, but was more lean than lanky, unlike most boys. His hair was similar to Harry's, but this boy's hair was wavier and had more brown in it unlike the boy-who-lived's, who's was mostly all black and untamable. He walked with an air of arrogance even though no one was watching him… well… that he knew of. Hermione had effectively stayed hidden behind the door she was supporting herself on.

She had considered waiting and asking someone else when she saw the scowl on the boy's face but decided she didn't have the energy to go looking for anyone else. She would deal with what she had been dealt.

It took her three tries to get the boy to come to her, even though she was sure he had heard all three of her attempts. He looked irritated when he finally approached her and she once again considered finding someone else to answer her questions, but then he snapped at her to hurry up and Hermione had no choice.

When she had asked him the date, he had been a complete git while answering her, only giving her parts of what she wanted to know. It took her four tries to actually get the answer she wanted out of him, and even though she was sure he was confused on why she would need the year, she didn't think it needed to be as difficult as he made it.

When he finally told her the year she had to use the door to support herself from completely fainting. She knew it was stupid of her to really be so persistent in absolutely making sure she had been thrown back in time, but it wasn't an easy adjustment to fully comprehend that you had gone half a century back in time.

Then he had to go on and be a bloody prick by insistently ask her about her business. She was going to slam the door in his face but he had prevented her, and if she hadn't been using the door as a crutch she would've punched him in the throat.

Then she had caught a glance at the book in his hands and stupidly asked about it. She could've gotten a better glance if he had stayed oblivious to the fact she was interested because as soon as he had caught on to her interest he had obstructed her view. It had looked like something you would have found on a shelf at the Hogwarts library, but he was a muggle so it wasn't possible, and Hermione once again felt the pang of nostalgia.

It was short-lived, though, when he started acting interested instead of annoyed like he had for the entire conversation before, and Hermione quickly had her doubts about the strange looking boy. He offered his hand asking for her name, and although it would look suspicious if she refused to shake his hand or give her name, she had a funny feeling it wasn't safe to do so.

Besides, he didn't give his name why should she give hers?

He didn't give her a choice, though, when she hesitated to reach for his hand, because he seized her hand, and almost immediately a bizarre look swept over his face. It had only lasted a second but if she hadn't been watching him so closely she would've missed the unreadable look that crossed over his face before it turned into a smug annoying smirk. He still hadn't let go of her hand, but he hadn't shook it either, instead just kind of held it. He seemed to notice and shook it once before dropping it and scaring her completely out of her skin.

He had known her name. Not just her first name that he could've picked up from either of the two women she had told it to, but her last name too. It wasn't possible. She was in the past, so there was no possible way he could've known her full name. It had frightened her so bad that all she could do was stare at him, frozen until he disappeared down the hall.

She then retreated back to her room and put a lot of thought in what had occurred.

She hadn't even caught his name so it was completely unfair he somehow knew her's.

She then decided that she was going to need to use a fake last name so she didn't muck up the timeline. Only for safety, if she unexpectedly ran into anyone that remembered her in the future, but that option might be difficult with the boy who mysteriously knew her name. But, she remembered perfectly clear, when McGonagall had given her the time-turner, the ramifications of twisting the timeline, and wasn't risking it for some stupid boy who had figured out her name.

But she reasoned that he, being a muggle, wouldn't threaten the timeline if he knew who she really was; she would most likely be gone in a week to find a way back home, anyways.

But...

...was he really a muggle if he had known her name?

She could only reason it had something do with magic...

She was planning on contacting Dumbledore, since being in muggle London wasn't the best place to be in the early forties. There was a large scale war taking place, and the Professor would most likely be the only wizard capable of finding a way to get her back to her own time.

She also knew she would have to learn how to act in the forties, knowing the culture was a bit different than the nineties. She was convinced that it wouldn't be too hard.

However, her mind was still brought back to the boy that had unnerved her.

The boy had really shaken her. She had already been very unsettled by the thought of being in a different time period, and the boy had only made her anxiety sky-rocket. She had no idea how he had guessed her name, but she intended to find out, as long as it didn't disrupt the timeline.

She decided to lie down as a headache started to form in her head, once again from over thinking everything, which she tended having a habit of doing. She felt like the more she thought the more her mind was going in circles.

Sighing, she cautiously maneuvered her body into the bed in a way the provided the least amount of pain.

Once again she started the entire process of her rambling mind again, unable to sleep from being kept awake by her growling stomach.

* * *

**A/N: I hope your pleased. Review!**

**-Kade**


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